Darkest Hour
by Gatergirl79
Summary: In the wake of his actions, Stiles calls for comfort. ONE SHOT. [Spoilers for Season 5] Pre-Sterek.


**A/N: Wrote this after having a head-canon. It's dedicated to Marilyn at Sterek facebook group, who pushed for me to write this. I hope you like it. I have not seen the newest episodes of Teen Wolf, this is just an imagining of what I'd like to happen after seeing a post about Stiles killing someone.**

* * *

Stiles takes the stairs slowly, just one step at a time. There's a constant dull buzz in his head, ringing in his ears. He hasn't looked at his hands since he…. He turned the corner on the landing and for a brief moment he stumbles, just slightly, his shoulder hitting the wall beside him. He sucked in a breath and closed his eyes only to snap them open again at the memory of blood. So much blood. He swallowed thickly and pushed himself off the wall, his gaze focused on his destination, the door at the end of the hall.

It's one step then another. Closer and closer. His heart still racing and his stomach churning. He wasn't going to be sick, no matter what his body wanted. He tried not to look at his blood coated fingers at he twisted the knob on the bathroom door but it was so hard. Tears welled behind his eyes, stinging painfully. He didn't bother with the light, he didn't need to see himself in the mirror or the remains swirling down the plug hole. - Sadly the hallway light was bright enough.

After twisting the tap and watching the water run for a few seconds he stuck his hands beneath it, watched the clear water turn dark red as it pulled the blood from his skin. He stared down transfixed at the sight of the red swirls, some a pale, almost pink where there was more water than blood. Other swirls were dark, deep red, as if it was seeping from his very body. He was more than grateful his father was working the late shift, he didn't think he'd be able to face his law abiding old man. In fact the whole idea of every looking his dad in the eyes again after what he'd done made an ice cold chill settle around his heart. It was just another failure, another disappointment.

The tears slipped down his cheeks like acid, burning his skin. He let them fallen, not caring about the sting of their tracks. His only focus was the movement of the water around his skin, the blood slowly slipping from his hands, inch by inch.

Stiles didn't know how long he stood there in the dark of the bathroom, tears silently falling from his lashes, his hands numb from the constant beating of the water, his whole body cold and just as unfeeling. – Eventually though something made him move. He turned off the tap and stepped away, he didn't bother drying his hands he simply left the bathroom and walked the few feet to his bedroom.

Once again he didn't bother to turn on the light. In the dark, the moonlight shining through his bedroom window, taunting him in its own away, he stripped out of his bloody shirt, tossing it into the trash can a few feet away, he won't be able to wear it again without thinking about what happened. Stood their bare chested he toed off his sneakers, kicking them in the same direction as the shirts. It wasn't until he moved to unfasten his pants that he realized his hands were shaking violently and he paused, flexing his fingers, trying to get control of them again. He took a couple of deep breathes but his lungs wouldn't fill, it felt like there was a weight the size of a house on his chest. He could feel his heart hammering through the layers of flesh, muscle and bone. Faster and faster. The room around him seemed to close in, the air that had been there a moment before vanished, dissolved into nothingness. His focus blurred, the loud buzzing in his head that had been with him for what felt like his entire life, was screaming now, blocking out every sound. It was like standing in a sound proof room and the loudest rock concert at the same second. His head spun from the sensation and he felt himself waver, his body swaying forward slightly.

He struggled to get his pants off, his hand shaking so much he could barely get a grip on either the button or the zipper, but eventually by some miracle he had them open and was violently shoving them down his legs, the rough fabric scrapping his thighs. He kicked them away as if they'd been solely responsible for what happened then he scrambled towards the bed, his breath coming in hard heavy pants, like his chest was caving in on him.

Rolling himself up in the covers, cocooning himself from the world. He squeezed his eyes tightly closed, more tears slipping free to soak into his pillow. Sniffling them back as much as he could, Stiles drew his knees up to his chest and swallowing the thick lump in his throat, hard and painful against his vocal cords. A small voice was whispering that he needed to tell Scott, tell the alpha. He groaned as he realized that his phone was still in his pants pocket. Opening his eyes slowly he glanced over at the pile of clothes and dragged a shaking blistering breath into his lungs before skimmed weakly out from beneath the duvet. He had to call someone. He needed….

He yanked the cell out of his pocket and scrambled backwards into bed, burying himself beneath the covers like a small child. – Like he'd done the night his mother had died. He could bared see what he was writing as he typed, his fingers moving of their own accord. He knew what they needed to say though.

 **Message** _ **: I just killed someone.**_

He hit send and curled up once again, the cell pressed to his chest like a comfort blanket. With the message sent and Stiles safe finally in the sanctuary of his bed, he let the exhaustion of the last few hours, if not years, drag him down into the silent abyss of sleep, praying it would gift him with asylum from his sins. – Praying as he slipped into the vail that his father would forgive him.

 _ **_sterek_**_

Stiles whole body felt like lead when he finally felt sleep release its hold on him, and for a few blissful seconds everything was as it had always been, he was just Stiles Stilinski, high school loser and all round nice guy. But then another word slipped into that list, murderer. Stiles Stilinski: Murderer. His throat closed up, painfully and the oxygen his lungs had regained during his hours of sleep was suddenly gone. He could feel the bed shaking, almost as if they were in the mists of an earthquake but then he realized it was him, he was making it shake.

He startled when a hand landed on his covers thigh, a heavy hand that seemed to seep comfort through the thick material and his own flesh to wrap around his very soul. He slowly forced his eyes open and twisted his head, his heart skipping and clenching all at once at the sight of the silent werewolf, his green eyes locked on Stiles.

Stiles didn't say anything, he didn't shake off the touch, because he didn't want to. This was what he'd wanted. It had been what he needed, the one person he could count on. Once upon a time that person would have been Scott, and if you'd have told him then that there would be a day where he couldn't be a hundred percent certain his best friend would drop everything to help him, he'd had laughed in your face. – And if you'd told him that the one person that would do that, would walk away from his new life to help him though the worst time of his life, would be Derek, he'd have probably called his dad to get you sectioned. – But that was how his life had turned out, it seemed.

Inhaling shakily, he closed his eyes for a moment, another river of tears slipping out from beneath them, his voice shaky when he finally whispered a single word. "Hey."

Derek's hand tightened on his leg and it felt himself relax and finally breathe. The werewolf didn't ask any questions, didn't press for details, he just sat there, silent. A secure shelter in the chaos of Stiles' quickly crumbling world.

Stiles just let the tears fall, allowing Derek to tether him, listening to the pounding of his heart and the gentle in/out of the man's breath. He'd been gone months, Stiles hadn't seen hide nor tail of him and yet here he was at the first call. – Why?

 _ **_sterek_**_

It was hours before Stiles felt ready to venture out of his blankets. In that time Derek had just sat in silence, occasionally answering whispered questions but mostly just being there, reading one of Stiles books and existing in the same space. The sheriff had returned home a little after 9 having stopped off for breakfast at the diner, Derek could smell the cheap coffee. There had been what would have normally been a very amusing game of hide the werewolf in the closet when his dad poked his head around the door, but Stiles wasn't in the mood to find anything funny right now. He'd simply told his dad he'd had a late night and rolled away, never meeting the man's eyes. If the sheriff had noticed something wrong or out of place, he said nothing.

A little after noon Stiles slipped as silently as he could from his room and down to the bathroom to take care of business. When he returned Derek was thrusting his blood stained clothing and sneakers into a bag.

"What are you doing?"

Derek didn't look up. "Cleaning up." He replied in his usual matter-of-fact tone.

"I…" Stiles swallowed thickly. "I need to t-tell d-dad."

Derek yanked the zipper and slowly turned. "That would be a mistake. He's better off not knowing."

"He's going to find out." Stiles argued weakly. "He's the Sheriff, they're going to find the body."

"No, _they_ won't." Derek replied, dropping the bag on the floor.

Stiles narrowed his eyes at him. "What did you do?" Derek remained silent so Stiles marched closer to him of unsteady legs, gripping his shoulder. "Derek? What did you _do_?"

"What I had to." He murmured, staring sown at the hand.

Stiles yanked his hand away as if burnt. "You got rid of the body?" he gasped, eyes wide. "How? – Why?"

"It doesn't matter. Just forget about it."

" _Forget_ about it? I killed someone Derek, how am I meant to forget _that_!"

Derek narrowed his eyes. "It was self-defence." He stated confidently.

Stiles frowned. "How do you know that? You weren't there. You haven't been… - I might have done it…"

Derek straightened. "No! You wouldn't kill someone in cold blood. If you killed someone it was because you had no other choice."

"How do you _know_ that?"

"Because I know _you_." Derek said softly. "You're a mouth piece and a pain in the arse but…you're not a murderer."

Stiles eyes began to pool with tears again. "Except I am. I…I have blood on my hands now. I…I took another life." He shook his head. "I'm a murd…"

Derek closed the small space between them and gripping Stiles shoulders. " _No_! You listen to me, _no_ , you're not a murder Stiles."

"Maybe….maybe it was always in me, maybe that's why the Nogitsune chose me, because deep down it knew I was evil."

"No!" Derek growled, shaking him violently. " _No_! I don't believe that for a second. If the nogitsune chose you it was because of you were importance to Scott, importance to…everyone." He insisted harshly. "You _not_ evil."

Stiles looked up at him, into those green eyes desperate to be believed. "What makes you so sure?"

Derek's fingers flexed against Stiles shoulders as he stood silently staring at Stiles until finally he breathed out an answer. "Because I…I know evil, I've dated and loved evil and you don't feel the same."

Stiles swallowed, his throat thickening and his heart thrashing painfully as he looked at the werewolf. Moaning sadly when Derek ripped his hands away and took a step back from him, reaching for the bag.

"Get a few more hours sleep, eat something. I know it'll be hard, but try. I'll check back in a while."

"Won't Braedon wonder where you are?" Stiles huffed.

Derek pulled open the bedroom door and paused, looking back at Stiles for a long lingering moment. "She knows where I am." He said, his words heavy with meaning as he added. "And why." Then he slipped from the room before Stiles could say anything more, the bag of evidence in his hand.

Stiles stumbled back to bed, sitting down heavily on the edge, his head in his hands. _Because I…I know evil, I've dated and loved evil and you don't feel the same._

 _ **_sterek_**_

It was evening when Derek finally made a reappearance, this time through the front door. He traded civilities with his father, explaining he was back in town checking up on some leads and needing to speak with Scott. Stiles listened from the top of the stairs. He hadn't left his room all day, even when his dad had threatened to have a burger for lunch. The only reason he was venturing out now was because he knew his father was leaving for work. He was pretty sure his dad knew something was wrong and hopefully would just assume it was werewolf business, an excuse that held credence with Derek's out of the blue arrival.

After a few more words, Derek said he needed to see Stiles about some research and his dad had reluctantly let him go.

"I've got to get into the station anyway. – Huh, if you could get him to eat something, I'd appreciate it."

Derek nodded absently, like he had no one care whether Stiles ate or not. Stiles darted down the hall to his room, falling into the desk chair, his gaze locked on the computer.

"I thought I told you to eat something." Derek murmured the second he stepped into the room.

"I wasn't hungry." Stiles replied quietly, his back to Derek as he sat at his desk staring at the local news reports. "The very thought of food makes me want to puke."

Derek sighed, moving over to perch his ass on the edge of the desk. "You need to eat, your dad's worried. – And staring at that isn't going to help."

Stiles angrily shoved himself away from the computer. "Nothing's going to help, I killed…."

"Shhh." Derek growled. "Your father's down stairs."

"Good. Maybe I need to go down there and confess, take my punishment."

Derek folded his arms over his chest and stared at the teenager. "So what's stopping you?"

Stiles stared at him. "I…I…" he swallowed thickly, shaking his head. "I can't do that to him." He sniffled. "I can't….he'll be devastated, he'll probably lose his job, again. Because of me, again. No, he deserves." He cleared his throat. "He deserves better than me, I've been a terrible son, all I do is cause him trouble."

Derek didn't argue.

"I've caused him so much trouble, I've almost got him killed bringing him into this and now he's going to forever be known as the father of Stiles Stilinski, murderer."

Derek was on him like a shot, grabbing him by the shoulders again, his fingers blazing though the thin fabric of the t-shirt, his flashing blue eyes burning into Stiles warm brown ones. "Stop saying that, you're not a murderer. I know murderers. If anyone's a murderer here, it's me." He growled. "I know Peter told you about Paige. About what I did. That was cold blooded. _That_ was murder…"

Stiles frowned. "You were putting her out of her misery."

"That she wouldn't have been in if I hadn't have gotten her bitten in the first place. I killed someone I loved because I was selfish and wanted her to be with me. What you did wasn't your fault, Stiles. You were protecting yourself. – If anyone is to blame for what happened to you last night, it's Scott. Not only because he's the alpha, but because as your best friend he should have been there for you."

"He had…"

Derek growled. "When will you stop defending him?"

"He's my best friend!"

"And he left you valuable." he snapped furiously, looking between Stiles brown orbs. "Yet you called _me_." He breathed.

Stiles opened his mouth to argue but found the words sticking in his throat, because he knew they were true. Too true lately. Scott had always had a problem with reliability but of late... "I…I have no idea why I c-called you. I wasn't thinking. I just wrote the text and sent it."

Derek frowned down at him. "The fact is Stiles, you did and I'm here. I didn't even wait five seconds before I was in my car and heading back here."

"Why?"

Derek didn't answer, he just stared at Stiles for a long few minutes; something in his gaze saying Stiles knew why, but now wasn't the time to discuss it. Taking a slow deep breath, Derek released Stiles shoulders finger by finger and stepped back. "Right now, we need to figure out what's going on and why you're a target."

Stiles swallowed thickly, taking his own unsteady breath. "I'm pretty sure it has something to do with Scott's new best friend, Theo."

Derek nodded. "Then we'll start there." He waved at the computer.

"Isn't Braedon expecting you back?"

Derek glanced over his shoulder as he shrugged out of his jacket. " _This_ is more important."

Stiles inhaled sharply and met Derek's green gaze before nodding and moving to retake his seat at the desk, Derek leaning over him. In that moment he felt the weight of his crime lifting, shared with the werewolf at his side.

 **The End**

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 **A/N: Okay, that's probably pretty crap, but as I said I was asked to write it and it at least got it out of my head. Sadly we all know this is _not_ how Jeff will deal with the aftermath of Stiles actions. It will undoubtedly involve Scott spouting a shit-load of holier than thou bullshit.**

 **Obviously this is just a quickly written one shot so I apologize for any and all spelling/grammar mistakes and also I'm fully aware that Stiles' wouldn't get over this so easily, and personally I don't think he will either, there will probably be many nights spent curled in sweaty sheets and screaming into the dark, not to mention troubled relationship with other characters but this was just about the day after the night before and Derek's return. – Lord how I wish Derek would return. Though you have to laugh at Jeff's desperate attempt to keep Sterek alive and pulling in viewers without actually having on side of the ship.**

 **Although you never know, there still might be a Sterek endgame and both Jeff, Tyler and Dylan are all playing us and when this ends we're going to look back and face palm. Rofl. What, I can dream can't I?**


End file.
